Elizabeth
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Joined: 30 Dec 2007
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 Posted: Mon Dec 31, 2007 12:41 am Post subject: 1: Kumorigachi: Prelude |
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Once upon a time, there lived a little girl.
Like all little girls' stories, hers begins with the story of her parents. They had wanted children for a very long time before they had her, but alas, it seemed that it was not to be. After many years, when the parents had begun to lose hope, and resign themselves, realizing that perhaps they simply were not meant to have a child, a friend told them of an infant whom had been left in the town, and was soon to be sent to an orphanage. The couple took pity upon the poor child, taking her in as their own.
But she was not what they had expected her to be. She was a tiny thing, remaining abnormally so for the rest of her life. Besides her size, however, she seemed normal, other than her ears, which were shaped oddly, almost pointed at the tops. That normality applied only to her physical state, though. She was also eerily quiet, barely ever crying, speaking only rarely once she had learned the skill. Her eyes seemed to hold wisdom beyond her years, and whenever they passed over the mother, she could swear she felt a chill, as if the icy hand of death were slowly approaching her. The parents soon began to wonder if the strangeness in her had been what had caused the girl's real parents to leave her.
Perhaps it was the strangeness, or perhaps it was just that having a child was not what the couple had expected it to be, but whatever the cause, they came to resent the girl. And soon, that resentment blossomed from a feeling, to something more. Though the woman did her best to hide it from the child which she had once looked upon as her own, she began to regret the day that she had decided to take in that infant.
The man, however, harbored his growing hatred for the child in his heart, allowing it to grow until it all but consumed him. And when it had, he struck out against her, hoping that by causing her pain, it would help him to forget the pain she had caused him. When it did not work, he kept trying, using any method he could think of to remedy his problem.
The child also grew to resent those whom she had come to know as her parents, yet felt unable to escape from them. So she bore their hatred, trying her best to keep from provoking the man, for she knew the woman would do nothing to stop him, if he were to feel the need to demonstrate his feelings toward the child.
And so it continued for the first six years of the girl's life, until one wise in the ways of the world discovered the child, and took an interest in her. The child was soon taken from the house of the man and woman, and taken to the very orphanage which they had saved her from being placed in while she was just an infant.
It was there that the child met those who were to become as true parents to her.
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Snow had fallen the night before, but he took no notice of it. He had no time for thinking of such trivial things. He saw it only in flashes, as his line of sight passed over it as it switched from one enemy to another. It must have been white, once. All snow began that way, at least in his experience. The snow left here was stained with mud, churned up by the feet of the combatants, and by the crimson of their blood.
Another fell, sword landing beside him a moment later.
He smiled grimly, lifting his own blade as the others approached cautiously, but now hungry for vengeance for the warriors who had already fallen. Dim sunlight reflected from dark steel, etched with an ancient ensigna of power which flowed like water to the handle, which wrapped around his hand on two sides, one of which was covered in spikes.
The warriors began to lose their apprehension as they looked around at their numbers, reminding themselves that, though many had fallen, there were still many left, and only one opponent. He was smiling now, hair drenched with sweat falling into his face. He gave his head a quick shake, and his hair flew backwards, revealing for a quick moment the pointed ears beneath.
And then he charged forward, raising his blade high. The enemy began to surge forward from all sides, but the elf showed no fear as he brought the blade down, light gleamed from the razor-sharp edge of the sword.
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The battle raged on below on the snow covered ground as a small pair of gray eyes, hidden behind gold-rimmed glass, watched, coldly calculating. Things seemed to be happening quicker than the eyes could follow, as they flickered back and forth, from one side of the battlefield to another. They had been locked in combat for quite some time now, but they seemed to be holding their own quite well. Only a few had fallen, and their wounds had been far from fatal.
A thin hand clutched the tree branch through the thick layer of snow coating it. Was it time to strike? No... No, perhaps it would be best to wait just a little longer. Shadows began to fall over the tree as a dark cloud passed in front of the sun, threatening to drop more snow on the battleground beneath. A warrior fell, gasping, her breath turning to steam as it reached the outside air. She lay still for a moment, eyes closed in exhaustion.
And then she started laughing loudly, as her companions collapsed around her, exhausted, and did the same.
The hand on the branch tightened, as the girl's other hand began scooping up a handful of snow and packing it quickly into a ball. She knew that her targets would be going inside soon; it was getting late, and they seemed to be tired. And also, her bottom was starting to feel very cold from the snow that had melted through the seat of her pants and underwear.
Their taunts still echoed through her mind, strengthening her resolve. She knew she wasn't brave or sneaky enough to get her revenge any other way. She was too afraid of what would happen if they knew it was her that had done whatever devious act she had cooked up to teach them not to call people babies just because they were younger and smaller than you, or Santa's little helper, just for having somewhat... odd... shaped ears.
The leader was sitting up now, in the middle of saying something. The girl leaned forward a bit, making sure that her snowball would hit its target, and then she threw it as hard as she could manage, hurriedly beginning to make another one, though making sure to take time to enjoy the startled look on the other girl's face as cold snow slapped against the side of her head. She looked around, confused and angry, already turning on one of her friends. The girl in the tree smiled predatorily, like a tigress hunting her next meal, and brought her arm back to throw again.
Chaos erupted among the small group of children on the ground, some of them sure that it was their older siblings playing a trick on them, others accusing each other. The girl began to laugh, then bit her bottom lip to try and keep quiet. She wouldn't have much time until they realized where the snowballs were really coming from, once they had calmed down, so she carefully packed a final one. The leader was looking around wildly, her gaze passing over the tree several times, not thinking to search its branches. Nobody climbed trees in this weather - everybody knew that. The other girls hadn't even thought to look that way, all assuming that their attacker had come from the yard of one of the nearby houses, or their own ranks.
The girl waited for her to look in her direction one more time. The snowball exploded on the bridge of her enemy's nose, snow cascading down her face as she stood up and screamed at all of her friends, demanding to know which one of them had done this. The girl smiled again, getting to her feet. It was time for her to leave, now that justice had been rightfully dispensed.
Snow crunched underneath her boot. She had always loved the sound snow made when she walked on it. A moment later, however, the sound vanished as her foot slipped, and she fell with a loud scream towards the snow covered ground.
"You!" a familiar voice called, sounding even angrier than ever. "It was you, wasn't it, you little brat?!"
The girl groaned, lifting her head from the soft snow for a brief moment. She was glad she had chosen a low branch now, even though she most likely could have continued the assault for longer from one higher up the tree.
An older voice sailed over the wind, bringing groans from the children. The leader took a step towards the girl, decided against it. She couldn't disobey her mother again today. "Just you wait!" she shouted in the direction of the forest. "Just you wait till school tomorrow, Melita! Then I'll show you!"
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"Very disappointing, Miss Asaguroi. We expected much better of you."
Cynthia looked down at the polished surface of her boss's desk, partly from embarrassment, partly from anger. "I did the best I could, sir. I just..."
Mr. Yuumei sighed, setting the folder containing the details of Cynthia's last assignment down. "Yes, yes. Perhaps it was a bit unfair of us to assume that you could handle the work of two experienced agents. Your mother, however, is one of the best in the business, and, as you know, this sort of work is highly hereditary." He glanced over Cynthia critically before leaning back in his chair. "Most of the time, anyway."
Cynthia sat up, her wings fluttering angrily. "With all due respect, *sir*, it was you who asked me to do this. I didn't ask for this. All I wanted to do was organize some paperwork..."
Mr. Yuumei sat up, too, slamming his hands onto his desk. "You asked to work at Conscience Inc, young lady! If you had wanted to... to be a secretary, then you should have..."
Cynthia slumped back down into her chair, crossing her arms sulkily. "How did you expect me to do a good job on the Porter case? I'm only sixteen. And, as I'm sure you noticed, there's only one of me. How am I supposed to be good *and* evil at the same time, especially for someone as deranged as that?!"
Mr. Yuumei conveniently avoided her eyes by gazing out the window behind her. "We're short on workers nowadays," he mumbled finally, reaching into the drawer of his desk for a cigarette.
"Don't you know those are bad for you?" Cynthia teased. "And that's what you told me before. It's not going to work this time. I need a partner, if you expect me to get anything done."
He shut the drawer without removing any of its contents, giving his employee a dirty look. She smiled innocently. "You know I can't spare another worker right now. We're overbooked as it is; I'm surprised that half the human world hasn't killed the other half yet."
Cynthia shrugged, getting to her feet. "Well, I'd love to say it's been a real pleasure working for you, but I feel like being a good girl today, and as we all know, good girls don't lie." She turned and walked from his office, ignoring his pleas to just stop and listen for a second. She waved to her mother as she passed by her office, where she was busy handing out a revised guideline for acceptable ways to reprimand humans for driving through red lights to her underlings, shivered and walked faster as she heard peals of laughter coming from the office on the opposite side of the building, trying not to imagine what sort of things Kokuei was cooking up to tempt people with today.
"What if I told you your next assignment would be her?" Mr. Yuumei asked as Cynthia stepped from the front door of Conscience Inc, causing her to jump a few feet in the air, quite a feat for someone only a foot tall herself, though she was greatly aided by her wings. She pushed past him, telling him that she wasn't interested, no matter who it was, trying to hide her smile at the thought that he was so desperate for workers that he would be willing to fly from his office down here just to stop her.
And then she saw the picture he was holding. An adorable little girl, reddish-brown hair framing a thin face that seemed made to display the girl's big gray eyes, while the pair of glasses she had on threatened to hide their full glory. She was smiling, but there was something in that smile that spoke of terrible things that she had seen and experienced, despite her young age. Cynthia's heart melted, her feet stopped moving, and she grabbed the picture angrily.
"Fine," she growled, berating herself for being such a pushover. "I'll take the damn job."
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